


Before We Collide

by MeowshmallowX



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (probably), Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Makkachin - Freeform, Romance, See where I'm going, Slow Burn, Vicchan - Freeform, Vicchan Lives, VictUuri, Viktor Nikiforov - Freeform, Why the hell does the capitalization of these tags get all screwed up, Writer Victor Nikiforov, YUURI WORKS IN A BOOKSTORE, Yuuri Katsuki - Freeform, katsuki yuuri - Freeform, victor nikiforov - Freeform, viktuuri, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeowshmallowX/pseuds/MeowshmallowX
Summary: Four seasons they miss each other.And the one they meet.





	1. Winter

It starts in the winter.

* * *

It’s the first day of winter and the frost is creeping in, staining hot breath white and drawing patterns in crystal.

And Viktor has no goddamn idea what to write about.

It should be easy, surrounded by the delicate early morning beauty of Central Park as it holds its breath, waiting for the rush of the day. It should be _easy._

But Viktor has nothing.

Curled up at his feet, Makkachin whines.

“Sorry, girl,” he murmurs, stroking her head. “You want to walk around?”

Makkachin’s tongue lolls out of her mouth and she trots in a happy circle. Viktor smiles softly and rises to his feet, his knees cracking when he does. _Am I getting old?_ he wonders, touching his hair whorl with a gloved hand.

He wonders.

He wonders when his heart will get old.

* * *

It’s the first day of winter and the snow is starting, tiny flakes that twirl and flutter and make the roads slippery.

And Yuuri’s going to be late to his first day at his new job.

_“Sh,_ Vicchan,” he hisses, chancing a peek at the taxi driver’s reflection in the mirror.

The driver jerks his own gaze away, and Yuuri feels heat flood his cheeks. _He must think I’m crazy,_ Yuuri thinks miserably. _Or maybe he’s figured out I’ve got a dog with me…._ A notice on bright red paper blazes in the corner of his eye—the driver’s reminder that he doesn’t allow pets in his taxi.

“Hey, mister,” begins the taxi driver, “do ya think—”

“I’m sorry!” cries Yuuri, eyes wide. “I…I didn’t….”

“Sorry?” repeats the driver, frowning. “Naw, I wasn’t gonna call you out on the dog.”

Yuuri wants to _die._ “O-oh….”

“You look like you’re gonna cry,” observed the driver. “Anyway, what I was gonna say’s it’d probably be faster for you to get out here ’n cut through this part of Central Park. Ya know the way?”

Yuuri has no idea how to get there, which is why he took a cab. “Y-yes, I know the way. It’s no trouble at all. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Yuuri pays for the ride and steps out of the taxi, hugging the soft dog carrier to his chest. Inside, Vicchan wriggles and yips, impatient to be let out. Yuuri sighs and sets the carrier down on a bench, unzipping it—

In an explosion of fur, Vicchan’s burst out of the carrier and hurtled down the street.

“Vicchan!” screams Yuuri, fumbling with his belongings and tearing after his dog. “Vicchan, _bad_ boy! Come here! _Vicchan!”_

The toy poodle turns a corner into Central Park, and Yuuri runs after him, skidding around the corner. _Where is he?!_ thinks Yuuri frantically, head swiveling left and right. _Oh god, I’m gonna be so late…._

And then he spots him.

Heading straight for a much, much bigger dog.

_No._

Yuuri sprints toward his dog, who’s rapidly approaching the other dog.

The other dog’s owner turns.

Their eyes meet.

Yuuri gasps.

And slips.

He throws up his arms to shield himself—

_That’s a person—_

Collides—

_Oh god oh god oh_ god _that’s a person—_

With a rough _Oof,_ Yuuri lands.

Right on top of the other dog’s owner.

“That’s one way to say hello,” remarks the man mildly, his smooth Russian accent leaving Yuuri breathless.

“A-ah,” breathes Yuuri, eyes wide. “I—”

“What’s your name?” The man’s eyes are icy fire. “I’m—”

“Oh, s-sorry,” stammers Yuuri, scrambling off the man. “I’m so sorry. I—Vicchan—I—I’m _so_ sorry.”

He scoops up his naughty toy poodle and shoves him into the carrier and runs and runs and runs until he thinks he recognizes where he is. _Thank god,_ he thinks, wheezing, when he reaches the little antique bookshop.

Yuuri bursts in half an hour late, half frozen, half burning, and collapses against the door.

The man’s eyes are icy fire.

* * *

Viktor lies in the snow-dusted grass for a while, staring blankly up at the trees. Makkachin sniffs his nose and gives it a searing hot lick, but he doesn’t respond.

The man’s eyes were painted in smoldering gold.

And he ran away.

Slowly, slowly, Viktor feels the frost creep into his bones. Into his chest.

Numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm sorry for the mess (THE FORMATTING)! XD I'm a grandma in my soul, so working all this newfangled technology doesn't come easily. Speaking of which, you can find this work [on Tumblr!](https://victuuri-ous.tumblr.com/post/165953657445/it-starts-in-the-winter)
> 
> Anyway, this won't be long - just five chapters - so hopefully it'll be done pretty quickly (if life and writer's block decide not to conspire against me).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Have a lovely day ♡


	2. Spring

It’s early spring and the air tastes pale green.

The door jingles as it opens, swinging shut behind Viktor as he sweeps into the pet store. Right away, he’s hit by the scent of pet food and treats and new collars and leashes—so much that it’s almost overwhelming. A cluster of children—probably on their spring break, Viktor guesses—crowd around the fishtanks, watching the schools of tiny fish dart around in their confines. Another herd have their faces pressed against the glass separating them from the kittens, who sniff and paw curiously at the children’s noses and make them erupt in peals of shrieking laughter. Viktor spots one sandy kitten with fierce blue eyes curled up in its corner, stubbornly ignoring the insistent taps on the glass, and chuckles to himself.  _ If Yura were a cat....  _ he thinks, amused.

He pulls his gaze from the children and searches for the pet food aisle, which seems to move every time he walks in here. After a few minutes of weaving through aisles, Viktor finds it. He grabs several boxes of Makka’s favorite brand—and a few treats because he feels bad for not bringing her along. 

Viktor hums to himself as he winds through the rest of the store, looking around idly. It’s very crowded today for some reason he can’t quite puzzle out, which sets him on edge. He’s never liked crowds. 

And then he hears it.

“...chewed through your old leash, didn’t you, Vicchan,” scolds a gentle-firm voice that makes Viktor’s heart jump. 

Everything else goes silent. Still.

All he sees is that pinched face, the crinkled nose and round cheeks and messy hair and glasses, and those  _ eyes. _

Those  _ eyes  _ are painted in smoldering gold.

And for an instant, for just a fraction of a second, they meet Viktor’s.

They don’t see him.

Instead, the man who collided with him all those months ago—the man whose gleaming dark eyes chase the most elusive of his dreams, the dreams that evanesce with a touch— 

Instead, the man shoves his receipt in his pocket and hurries out the door.

But...

Stupidly, irrationally, Viktor feels tentative hope begin to warm him.

Maybe there  _ is  _ a chance.

* * *

Outside the pet store, Yuuri stops and frowns, thinking. “Hey, Vicchan, did you see him too?”

The toy poodle tilts his head, confused, but Yuuri frowns harder. He could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of that unmistakable silver hair belonging to the man he’d slipped and crashed into on the first day of winter….

Yuuri shakes his head as if to clear it.  _ It was probably nothing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! \\(*´♡`*)/ If you'd like, here's the [Tumblr link!](https://victuuri-ous.tumblr.com/post/166019390210/part-two-spring)
> 
> Have a wonderful day!


	3. Summer

It’s a midsummer night and the theater district of Times Square is pulsing with _life,_ veins glowing with an ethereal ecstasy the daylight will wash away.

Phichit’s grip is iron around Yuuri’s wrist as he hauls him through the crowd, practically vibrating with the thrill of the city at night. Yuuri wiggles his fingers experimentally—they’re slowly going numb. _If my hand falls off,_ he thinks, _at least maybe I won’t have to take care of paperwork anymore._

“I can’t believe you get to work here!” yells Phichit over his shoulder, his whole face alight. “Yuuri, you’re so lucky!”

Yuuri laughs. “I don’t work on Broadway, Phichit!”

“I know, _Yuuri_ _.”_ Phichit sticks out his tongue. “Your antique bookshop in the Upper West Side isn’t bad either! Sometimes I worry you’re getting too fancy for me.”

Yuuri laughs again and shakes his head—Phichit’s enthusiasm is infectious, even when they’re fighting through a sweaty crowd so they don’t show up at the musical later than they already are. He wriggles his wrist a bit so his best friend doesn’t _completely_ cut off circulation to his hand, but Phichit only tightens his grip. Yuuri grimaces and twists his wrist—

And then they’re separated.

“Phichit?” cries Yuuri frantically. “Phichit!”

He can’t hear a reply. _Why did I think this was a good idea?_ Yuuri thinks, despairing. _I should’ve known we’d get separated!_ The crowd jostles him, tugging him farther from where he last saw Phichit, and he grits his teeth and elbows his way through. A flash of black hair!—but no, that’s someone else. Yuuri’s brows draw together and he tenses, tryingtrying _trying_ not to panic because panicking won’t help anything, he’ll just lose it and all logic will fly out the window and he’ll be worse off than he is now, but oh _god_ _,_ can he _get_ worse off? Phichit’s not used to navigating Manhattan, he’ll get lost, he’ll get hurt, he’ll—

Glittering silver catches Yuuri’s eye, and he spins around, clinging to it, something to focus on, something to concentrate on—

The man’s eyes are icy fire.

_No way._

But it is.

Faerie-like blue eyes, splashed with the barest breath of green,  meet Yuuri’s.

And they share a glimpse through the crowd in Times Square, a stolen moment between hitched breaths, lines of faces blending into blurs in the flashing lights.

Yuuri sees him.

And the man sees Yuuri back.

The world slows down and, illuminated by the glow of flickering neon, it’s _theirs._

For one heartbeat.

For another.

And then the tide of people washes the silver-haired man away, sending him spinning, spinning away, lost in an ocean Yuuri can’t navigate.

Yuuri stands still, summer fire in his heart.

* * *

Viktor feels his heart slam against the inside of his ribcage, a nervous, ragged beat he’s sure throbs in time with the other man’s.

The man’s eyes are painted in smoldering gold.

They lock with Viktor’s, widen, _linger._ Leave icy blue to trace the outline of Viktor’s face, to trail over his body before snapping back up to hold their stare. Leave a blazing, searing hot trail where they travel.

Even after a cheerful-looking black-haired man hauls away the man he collided with in Central Park over half a year ago, Viktor stares. Watches the crowd swirl and eddy and spill into the space the man left like a frothing sea.

Viktor stands still, his soul ablaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is even worse than usual XD I'm sick and tired and it's been a long day, so...yeah. It was better in my head.... Here's the [Tumblr link!](https://victuuri-ous.tumblr.com/post/166132508250/part-three-summer)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and have a lovely day!


	4. Fall

It’s late autumn and a few faint embers still cling to the trees, resisting the budding winter.

The coffee shop’s warmth is a welcome change from the bitter cold outside, and Yuuri stops, shivering, to soak it in. Slowly, feeling returns to his face, and he sighs, basking in the warmth before hurrying to get a place in the growing line—he can’t leave his coworker alone with Vicchan too long. Yuri Plisetsky is very much a cat person.  _ Will this winter be even colder than the last one?  _ wonders Yuuri.  _ It’ll be good for business at Yu-topia—and the bookshop too.  _ He glances up at the menu and relaxes when he sees the shop sells green tea.

“A medium green tea, please,” he practices quietly. “A med—”

“Next!” the young lady behind the counter calls. “How can I—”

“A medium green tea, please,” blurts out Yuuri, flushing. “Oh, s-sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off—”

The lady flashes him a too-polite smile, and Yuuri winces. “It’s fine. Anything else?”

Yuuri nods, still flustered. “U-um...yes. Yes. I mean—no. That’s…no.”

“All right. Your total is three twenty-five.”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

“Have a nice day.” 

“Huh? Oh—yes. You too! I meant you too. Have a nice day.”

For the millionth time that day, Yuuri kicks himself for forgetting his thermos, the tension in his shoulders building with every second he has to stand in that shop. The lady is probably angry at him, or—oh,  _ no,  _ maybe she’s  _ used  _ to it—maybe Yuuri was no different from every other rude customer he’s ever had to deal with. Maybe— 

“One medium green tea.” The same lady sets it on the counter in front of him. “Enjoy.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to apologize again, but she’s already serving the next customer. Guilt writhing in his stomach, Yuuri picks up his tea and doesn’t get a sleeve for it. He’s sure he  _ deserves  _ to have his hands burned off by the same tea he spoke rudely to a barista for. 

“Ah, Yakov, Yakov, don’t worry—” 

Yuuri’s head snaps up. That voice is familiar—that  _ accent. _ He’s heard it before. It has something to do with Central Park….

_ Vicchan taking off, sprinting into Central Park, heading straight for a bigger poodle. _

A flash of silver hair through the crowd.

_ Slipping on ice, losing his balance, colliding. _

A glimpse of eyes like icy fire.

Yuuri nearly spills his tea all over another customer, scrambling through the crowd. It can’t be a coincidence—this is the _third_ _time._ Maybe the man lives near here, maybe he likes antique bookshops and tea and pork cutlet bowl and oh, he must like poodles, he’s got a _big_ one, maybe they have common interests they could talk about over lunch sitting in a cozy window booth in a little café with a view into Central Park, maybe— 

The silver-haired man weaves through the crowd with all the breathtaking, spotlight-capturing elegance Yuuri remembers. Weaves through the crowd and out the door and away. 

Frantic, Yuuri bursts out the door and spins around, searching wildly.

Nothing.

The cold air he breathes in sticks in his chest and doesn’t leave.

* * *

Viktor sighs, hanging up, and slides his phone into his coat pocket. Yakov means well, but all he ever does is shout. It’s exhausting. 

Without conversation to fill his head, Viktor lets his thoughts wander, sipping his mocha. The steam warms his face and brings him back to the coffee shop. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of familiar golden-dark eyes boiling with determination. Maybe….

Viktor shuts his eyes, tired.  _ It was probably nothing.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end! Thank you for sticking around this far. It means a lot to me. (And, as always, [the Tumblr link!](https://victuuri-ous.tumblr.com/post/166232800695/part-four-fall))
> 
> The last update should hopefully come soon - I can certainly promise it'll be up by the end of next Sunday at the very latest, so you don't have to wait too long!
> 
> Once again, thank you so much, and I hope you have a wonderful day °˖✧♡✧˖°


	5. Winter

It’s the last day of winter and the frost is retreating, making way for spots of shy green peeking out of patches of earth.

Yuuri curls further into himself, sitting in the window of the bookshop, and furrows his brow. “Mom, are you _sure_ you don’t want me to come back and help out? I could leave—it’s not going to be busy—”

“Ah, Yuuri,” chuckles Hiroko through the phone, “always so concerned about your old parents. We can manage! You have a good day at work, okay?”

“But—”

“Yuuri,” she chides him gently, “don’t worry about it.”

Yuuri sighs. “Okay, Mom. If you’re sure....”

“I’m sure.” Hiroko's voice is firm. “Bye bye, Yuuri! Enjoy your day!”

“Bye bye,” Yuuri laughs softly.

He waits to end the call until he hears a click, and he lets his arm drop into his lap. _It’s going to be a long day,_ he thinks, unscrewing the lid of his thermos to take a sip of his tea.

The door swings open, letting in a gust of almost-spring air, and Yuuri scrambles to his feet, fumbling with the open thermos of hot tea, and looks up.

* * *

Viktor tilts his head back and lets the sweet breeze ruffle his hair, lets the warm sunlight spill onto his face, lets a quiet smile curve the corners of his lips up. It’s almost spring. It’s almost _spring,_ and Viktor is silly, giddy, high on a crazy hope that today is his day. The small smile on his face stretches, grows, blossoms, and then he’s grinning and he feels like the sun.

The wood of the door is warm and familiar beneath Viktor’s palm, and he pushes it open, inhales the calming fragrance of old books as it washes over him— _Maybe I should get this scent in cologne,_ he thinks with a laugh, and he hears the musical creak of the door and wants to sing along. Beaming, Viktor steps inside and waits for Yuri’s groan—it’ll probably be some grouchy question about what’s got him “so damn cheerful, old man”—and stops.

That’s not Yuri.

“Oh,” breathes Viktor softly, eyes shining.

It’s _him._

The man shoots off the windowsill, nearly dropping the thermos, and tugs his gaze up to meet Viktor’s eyes, and Viktor feels a chilling heat shiver all down his body, feels his heart skip a beat and blaze, feels his airways constrict, feelsfeels _feels._

And then there’s a crash and a yelp and the man has steaming tea all down his front.

In a flash, Viktor is by the man’s side and pulling out a pack of tissues, dabbing at his shirt and the sliver of flushed collarbone peeking out and it looks like the man is as dry as tissues can get him but Viktor is still pressing damp tissues against him because he can feel the man’s heart beating nervously against his fingers, strong and steady and making Viktor’s own heart rate spike—

“Um,” blurts out the man, beautiful eyes wide and nervous-thrilled behind his glasses, “y-you don’t have to do that....”

Viktor flashes the man a dazzling smile and preens when his gorgeous, gorgeous lips part. “Ah, but—” Viktor tilts his head to the side, lowering his lashes. “It’s only fair.”

The man’s breath hitches, and he jerks his gaze down to the thermos on the floor. “My tea….”

“I suppose this means I’ll have to buy you a drink to make up for this,” muses Viktor, letting his hand move to fix the man’s collar.

“Nonono, that won’t be necessary!” cries the man, shaking his head furiously.

“Aw, but I want to....” Viktor pouts.

“O-oh.” The man looks stunned. “I....”

Viktor’s hand drifts up to caress the man’s chin, to cradle it gently like it’s the most precious treasure to ever exist and it _is._ He leans forward.

“Do you remember me?” he asks, voice low.

“Of course.” The man’s voice is nervous, shaky, but certain. “I knocked you over....”

Viktor laughs—a short laugh, almost sad. “Why did you run away?”

The man flushes. “I…was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up. “You were?”

“Y-yeah.” He ducks his head. “And…late for my first day working here.”

“Fair enough,” chuckles Viktor. Then he frowns. “You’ve been working here that long?”

“Um—yeah. It’s been a little over a year now,” he affirms.

Viktor blinks. _“What.”_

“Huh?”

“I’ve been coming here every week for over a year now,” he grumbles. “My friend, Yuri Plisetsky—do you know him?—works here.”

The man’s eyes pop wide open. “What?! Which day of the week do you—?”

“Every Monday.” Viktor nods toward the windowsill the man was just curled up in. “I sit by that window there. It’s a lovely place to write.”

The man groans. “I work here every weekday _but_ Monday. I have to help my parents with the inn, and my sister works her other job Mondays and weekends.”

_“God,”_ Viktor huffs. “Oh, but…your family has an inn?”

The man lights up. “Oh, yes! Just outside the city, right on the Hudson. The commute takes a little while, but—I hope you would one day consider visiting!”

Viktor beams. “Wow! Amazing!”

The man giggles, and Viktor’s heart nearly stops. His eyes _explode_ with light when he laughs. Viktor could write novels about it, about the little crinkle in the man’s nose when he laughs, about how the heavens open and angels sing when the man smiles.

“You mentioned you write?” he asks shyly.

Viktor nods. “Oh, yes! That’s why I was in Central Park the first time we met, and it’s another reason why I come here. Inspiration.”

The man opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off when a tiny ball of fur curled up in a dog bed by the counter twitches awake and charges at Viktor, barking and wriggling and jumping joyfully on Viktor’s legs. Viktor laughs.

“Vicchan, no!” the man scolds his dog, scooping up the excitable toy poodle. “I’m so sorry. We never really trained him….”

“That’s okay!” Viktor smiles fondly at the dog, who’s struggling to free himself from the man’s arms. “My Makka was very naughty when she was younger. She still tackles her favorite people.”

_Maybe she’s a little like you,_ Viktor wants to add, but going off the man’s bright red face, he’s thought it too.

“She…sounds really sweet,” ventures the man, adjusting his grip on his dog.

“Mm-hm!” Viktor reaches forward to pet the dog. “Vicchan, you said? Hi, Vicchan!”

“Oh, yeah.” The man nods. “It’s a nickname.”

“Oh?” Viktor looks up. “For what?”

“Viktor.”

Viktor’s mouth falls open. “Vicchan, we have the same name!”

“Wha—really?” The man looks startled. “You do?”

“Yes!” Viktor smiles. “I’m Viktor Nikiforov.”

The man blushes. “Y-Yuuri Katsuki.”

Outside, the sun breaks free from behind threatening steely clouds, and sunshine streams into the bookstore.

Yuuri’s eyes are painted in smoldering gold.

_Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki._ Viktor savors the taste, the feeling of Yuuri’s name on his tongue. Lets it warm him.

And the last of the frost melts away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END IS FINALLY HERE. And hey, I kept my promise - it's Saturday! (As usual, here it is [on Tumblr!](https://victuuri-ous.tumblr.com/post/166413975935/part-five-winter) Wow, all these hyperlinks have been so good for my very minimal HTML skills, haha.)
> 
> I hope the last chapter was slightly less awful than the rest of this...mess. Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end - I can't believe this got any kudos at all, frankly, and I'm beyond honored that you decided it was worth your time! Again, thank you for reading, and have a wonderful, wonderful day!


End file.
